


Outlast

by tocasia



Series: Our Shining Past [51]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: #sailthecosmos, AU, Angst, Blood, Dark, Death, Fear of loss, Gen, Gore, Sad, Sephiroth and Zack friendship, Stream of Consciousness, dealing with grief, emotions are tough, incredible bravery, interior monologues, possibly disturbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tocasia/pseuds/tocasia
Summary: In which Sephiroth is injured and Zack confronts the possibility that he might have to carry on without him.  Sad, dark, angst.(95. outlast) for Seph&Zack Friendship 100 Themes





	Outlast

Critical condition? Sephiroth was never in critical condition. Either he was fine, or you'd use a phoenix down and then he'd be fine. The one time that'd happened in Wutai, Zack had been there and able to save him, so it hadn't been as frightening as this was becoming.

It _couldn't_ be as bad as Tseng made it sound.

Lab 5, Tseng had said, when he'd told Zack to prepare for the worst.

He caught himself pacing back and forth.

It couldn't be that bad.

But... if it was, Seph needed him by his side.

Zack bolted from the Turk lounge and rushed up the stairs. No fear could stop him.

* * *

An uncooperative receptionist on the 68th floor gave him directions. He'd apologize to her later.

This was the room. Lab 5.

The smells of blood and Mako hit him like a truck. Disinfectant and disposable gloves and professionally concealed panic. The honeysuckle scent of elixir.

"Hey! Let me in!" Zack banged on the blast-proof security door. "I have to see him!"

Professor Hojo barked an order to an assistant, and Zack's request was granted.

The Professor stood straight, his usual inquisitorial stoop momentarily abandoned. He was _commanding_ here. Zack felt a twinge of respect.

His condescending frown was familiar, though. "Take a look, then."

Sephiroth was lying on a table, eyes closed. There was a simple oxygen mask strapped to his face; the inside was flecked with pink. Someone had tied his hair back in a bun, under a cap. The strands that escaped stuck to his forehead, drying rusty brown.

Blood everywhere, dark and bright, dried and seeping.

Compared to the chest trauma, arms and legs weren't badly damaged.

It was ridiculous but someone had found a towel for modesty. It was red now.

He had multiple IV's. They were labeled but Zack didn't understand the names. He hoped to Gaea one was a painkiller. A lazy drip, clear liquid... some kind of conservative fluid replacement, probably saline. Pretty normal. But no bag for a blood transfusion, which was weird. Instead, the line pumped viridescent, glowing green.

Zack was alerted to an ominous lack of beeping equipment. Oh. A nurse tapped a yellow Sense materia in her bracer. They were monitoring vitals that way. He glimpsed the residual pearly shimmer of a Resist spell, cast against infection, and a Slow spell to manage the bleeding.

Maybe it still wasn't that serious? Shallow cuts could bleed fiercely....

But not like this.

A steady trickle converged upon the drain in the floor. The tiles were smeared slippery red with lab techs' footprints.

Sephiroth convulsed as if struck by an invisible assailant! The mended, whole skin on his torso split apart, deep gashes cleaving muscle. Wounds reopened and gushed anew... like sluggish drinking fountains. He coughed fresh crimson into the mask. 

Zack assumed a battle stance. But he didn't detect an enemy!

"You see the difficulty. As soon as he heals, it starts again. Regen makes no difference. Remedy and Esuna have no effect."

Blood was nothing. Zack was SOLDIER.

But....

No. Pretend it isn't him.

The patient was in a lot of pain. Perhaps it would be more merciful to... a phoenix down would work, right? A treacherous thought, cruelly practical. Seph would be proud if he weren't the one on the table.

Hojo seemed to read his mind. "We've already tried. The specimen's condition persisted through death. Subsequent trials pose unacceptable risk. The window of opportunity for successful revival is too short and our supply of phoenix downs is not infinite. We need another solution."

Zack heard himself mimic Hojo's clinical detachment. Disgusting. "What are you going to do?"

"I will find a cure, of course! It's been twenty minutes with no improvement. Stable enough, I suppose, except we're getting low on purified Mako graded for IV use. In another ten, we'll transfer the specimen to full immersion for preservation."

The Professor gestured to one of the three Mako tanks, open and waiting, horrible.

"Unless.... You were in Wutai with him. Have you ever seen anything like this, with any SOLDIER? Do you have any ideas...?"

"No," Zack had to say. "Nothing like this. Never."

Sephiroth's injuries just _appeared_ , turning his chest into a bloody morass. There _was_ a pattern though, almost too fast to see. A quick succession of strikes. Neat incisions, skin layers nowhere torn ragged....

Like from a very _sharp_ sword. A heavy, broad blade, like Zack's own. He'd inflicted hundreds, thousands, of similar wounds with the Buster Sword, was intimately familiar with its work. He'd guess that this blade was balanced differently, had a symmetrical double-edged point.

Morbidly, he tried to count them. More than ten separate slashes in as many seconds. Maybe fifteen total? A spasm for each, the violent impact of an imaginary weapon. Any one of them could be a killing blow.

The first was near vertical, top to bottom. Next, diagonally from upper right to lower left. Additional upstrokes and downstrokes zigzagged, cutting him to ribbons. Throw a few stabs in there. The last was a mighty chop to crack the skull. Or cut someone in half. The brutality of it was excessive.

...and Sephiroth made not a sound.

"So. What do you make of the wounds?" Hojo was side-eyeing him, suspicious, searching for guilt. He thought Zack had done this...?

Zack defended himself. "No way! I couldn't."

"Because you _wouldn't_ , because you're _friends?_ " Hojo sneered. "A promise so easily broken...."

"Yeah, there's definitely that, but I meant I'm not capable of it, physically. Whatever did this is way outta my league. I wouldn't stand a chance."

"Hmm. None of the other SOLDIERS would either, then." Hojo's compliment wasn't particularly comforting. At least he'd dropped the accusatory tone. "I'm glad it wasn't you. I would never forgive you."

"Professor, it's time," said the nurse with the Sense materia.

"You, prepare the Mako tank. Fair, if I may ask your assistance in moving him...?"

He realized then that _Hojo_ was _afraid_. _Tseng_ was afraid. For real.

Zack was....

He was the General's second-in-command! He should have considered it before! But he _hadn't_. He'd never imagined his world without Sephiroth. He was _not_ emotionally prepared! As if you could ever be! But... he should have been, right? SOLDIERS should be ready for that. He knew what to do, what to say, if someone else died. He knew the burial rites, had given a gazillion memorial speeches. A lot of his buddies were dead, in Wutai. He'd grieved them, he remembered them, he gave them due respect.

...But if Seph was gone....

Zack's stomach churned as he lifted his friend off the table, mindful of the tubes and lines, and lowered him into the tank. A senior lab tech operated the controls to seal it and begin the fill cycle. When the bubbles stopped, Sephiroth's blood had mixed with the glowing green of the Mako, darkening it to murky black.

Leaning close, Hojo pressed his stained gloves against the glass cylinder. Affectionately. "My precious Sephiroth...."

"I need... something to do. Or I think I'm gonna lose it."

"You there! Give Fair some gloves and a mop so he can help with cleanup. We still have an unused biohazard waste container somewhere, yes?"

"They're all full, doctor."

"Dump the rags in the regular trash then, it all goes to the same place anyway."

Zack tried. He really did. The simple task of scrubbing lab tile seemed beyond him.

Hojo noticed. "He would thank you for your help. And probably order you to get some rest. I suggest you do that. I'll... let you know if anything changes."

"Yes sir."

"You should go."

* * *

Zack collapsed at his desk, mentally berating himself for being so happy to get out of there. And for calling Hojo 'sir'. 

Ha! He'd thought that after the war it was Seph who relied on _him_ more. To be a friend, to keep him sane, to be strong and optimistic, to never break, to see him as a person instead of... whatever he was afraid of being seen as.

But he relied on Seph too! To lead, of course, but also... to be there. Always reliable. Some kinda cornerstone of the world. Something was wrong? Seph would make it right. Something had hurt you? It would be dead. You had something to say, that no one else could hear, because it was too damn classified to even think about? Seph would listen, usually.

And now....

Seph might not be there anymore to talk to or train with; wouldn't raise an eyebrow or laugh at terrible puns or demand sardonically a summary of the latest cheesy romantic comedy. It was the dumb little things like that.

Zack wanted to _destroy_ something! Sure, he had plenty of discipline, but self-control had taken on a new importance. He _must_ set an example, _must not_ spread his panic. Standard leadership stuff, except suddenly it had to be _perfect_. He shouldn't ask the other Firsts for a spar; in a fight they'd know instantly that something was off. He wasn't allowed to explain why yet! It wouldn't be a _friendly_ spar. He'd only hurt someone....

Was this how Seph felt all the time?

It sucked. How did he not tear his hair out?

Zack looked at paperwork. It was all so meaningless. Jumbled-up words could not keep his attention.

They'd promote him. They'd call him General Fair. They'd move him to the other office.

When the story broke, the media wouldn't leave him alone.

"How does it feel? You and he were friends right? It must be so awful, but you're really holding it together for everyone. Do you have a message for our viewers?"

Zack would have to lie a lot.

He knew he was qualified for the position. He knew he could handle the responsibility. Hell, he was best friends with _Sephiroth_ , and that man did not suffer fools.

Seph was a murderous bastard. A cold, merciless pillar of authority who by his nature went unquestioned. He _was_ the Great General. It was not just a job. They'd shared many of the same duties, but as long as Sephiroth was there, Zack could be himself.

...If I become like he was to deal with it, who will remember that _I_ used to smile?

Hours passed in rumination, despair he tried to convince himself Seph wouldn't want him to feel.

* * *

Zack picked up the phone, battling dread.

Hojo's greasy voice snapped over the line, cheerful. Which didn't have to mean good news. But it was.

"I'm pleased to announce that, thanks to my genius, General Sephiroth has made a complete recovery. When he awoke he scratched an order inside the tank asking to see you. So get down here."

In the background, Zack heard Sephiroth laughing, telling the lab assistants they could run whatever tests they wanted if he could be present for the initial analysis. Like it was the funniest thing in the world. Like he hadn't nearly died....

"On my way."

* * *

When he expressed it, Seph had the most sincere gratitude of anyone he knew.

"Thank you, Zack, for caring what happened to me."

Sephiroth's eyes shone with blistering intensity. Must be a side effect from being in the tank.

"You always did, didn't you? Even when you knew what I wanted...."

What was that supposed to mean? "Of course Seph, we're friends."

"I hope that can always be true."

Why wouldn't it be? "So, uh... how'd you get hurt so bad?"

"The past tried to repeat itself."

Sephiroth's smug smile scared him.

"...it knows better, now."


End file.
